


Ye Saga Continues.

by Tammany



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Other, Set Up, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 11:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19355827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammany/pseuds/Tammany
Summary: This is silly, frivolous, and I honestly am not likely to take it much farther. Doing it right would be a lot of time I should spend on other things. But it came to me, like dawn after an all-nighter: rose up in my mind and I had to write it.Ye Saga Continues. But how? Where does it start?





	Ye Saga Continues.

It started almost a year after the failed apocalypse. The bell of Aziraphale’s store jingled. The door eased slowly open, and a round, worried face peered in.

“Closed,” Aziraphale said, reflexively, though he hadn’t really planned to close. But that was before a customer showed up. It was always easier to remain open when no customers intruded.

The worried face said, cautiously, “Are you…Aziraphale? Principality? Angel of the Eastern Gate?”

Aziraphale flinched, and braced himself for trouble. “Mmmmmmaybe?”

“Betrayer of the Great Plan? Defender of the Ineffable Plan? Deleter of Armageddon?”

“Um—perhaps? The second—I might admit to the second. And I don’t think I betrayed anything, exactly… Someone else gets credit for the last.” He fiddled with his watch fob and tried not to squeal like a piglet caught in a tulgey wood, all set about with fever trees and woozels. “And you are…?”

The worried face looked more worried still. “Oh. Um—Gotlacht.”

Angels’ names had meanings—not that they always liked admitting it. Gabriel’s name meant, “God is my strength.” Aziraphale’s name meant, roughly, “Complete healing of God,” an extended form of “Raphael.” This one—the name was in German? No—Yiddish, of all things.

God laughs.

Well, then. All-righty-ho, then. Aziraphale managed a stressed smile. “I see. Come in, then. You’re from—” He jerked his chin up, and gazed at the ceiling. “Up _there_?”

The worried face was followed by a small, rotund body, shorter than Aziraphale, and of ambiguous gender. “I suppose? More or less? It was my prior location?” Gotlacht blinked, forlornly.

It was a fey thing—as much hobbit as anything, with curly brown hair, large eyes behind larger glasses, a snub nose, and cherub lips. It was dressed in tartan flannel, a T-shirt printed with a picture of Godzilla—Godzilla apparently tap-dancing with a cane in one claw and a top-hat in the other. Jeans and sneakers completed the ensemble.

Aziraphale sighed. No sense of style. But he preferred this one to Gabriel. “What have you come about? New orders?” He was more than a little tetchy, and sounded it. He’d hoped for at least a century or two before Heaven tried to reclaim him for their little errands.

“Um…no?”

“They’d better not have any new trials planned.”

The plump little angel shied back. “Oh, G…Heav… Um. No. Really. I just—I just came.”

Aziraphale was confused. “You just—came?”

“Yes. I just—” Gotlacht shoved its hands deep in its pockets. It seemed to huddle in such a way as to be even shorter still. In a small, fretful voice it said, “I mean. It’s all buggered up, up there, isn’t it? Hardly better than them down below. It’s been bad since the beginning. The poor lass and the apple, and all. And Apocalypse—well, you hardly knew where to look, did you? Between wanting to laugh at how stupid it was and, well, scream at how stupid it was?” It looked at Aziraphale, then, with great, glowing eyes, and said, “And then… And then there was _you._ You and Demon Crowley. And it all…” Its hands came back out of its pockets, and it flailed like Kermit as it tried to express the full extent of its awe and admiration. “And it all made sense, then! The Great Plan is not the Ineffable Plan! The Test is not the real test! And—she left you both standing! Allowed you to live! And I realized—so many of us realized—that she really did want us to love Earth. So I came. As soon as I could work up the nerve. I came, and I’m here, and I want to join. I’ll do anything, sir. I mean, I’ve been on choir detail the past six thousand years. Tenor. Not even a soloist. But—I’ll do anything I can, if you’ll just let me join.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Join what?”

“The resistance!” Gotlacht said, shining with hero-worship and wild new loyalty. “What else?”

Aziraphale felt his stomach turn over, as though he’d eaten a remarkably bad oyster in a month without an R in it.

Oh, dear Lord, he thought. And then he thought—Oh. Dear Lord—I hope this has her approval.

The thing was, it had become a bit hard to know what she approved of these days….

And then the little scarlet dragon had shown up at Crawley’s, trailing streamers of hellfire. And the Angel of the North Gate had toddled along carrying an apple pie and her own flaming sword. And a trio of minor pit-imps had come by from the south of London, not exactly to sign up, but to announce they’d abandoned hell and set up in the much more pleasant environment of Brixton, and thought they’d introduce themselves to the neighbors. The day Uriel took a job as a professor of medicine at King’s College, Aziraphale and Crowley knew they had a problem on their hands.


End file.
